Tuesday, 01 December 2015

#GivingTuesday shines a light on organizations that join communities to transform our world. It's kind of like a coordinated day of gift-giving and gratitude sharing with extended, badass family, and a healthy antidote to the media craze of Cyber Monday and holiday shopping.

I thought to share some ideas with you for today (and beyond - because why be limited to Tuesday?!). Below are just a few organizations I had the chance to recently connect with. They are building opportunities that regenerate - for generations to reconnect to culture, healthy and accessible food, beginning farmers to deepen their skills, and healing relationships with the natural world. So please - pull up a seat, join in or add to the list, and share your loving support.

1. Bahay Kubo Garden Project. Bahay Kubo lifts up Filipino American health, food and culture. It does this through planting culturally relevant crops, gardening and eco-education, in connection with the broader work of Filipino Advocates for Justice. In May, the project was recognized by the Big Ideas contest as a Food Systems Innovator and won $10,000 seed funding. The site is growing and now has 17 days left to raise $2500 for a matching funds challenge - anything given today until December 18 will be doubled!

2. Sama Sama Cooperative. Sama Sama brings children, families and communities together to reclaim land, culture, and earth-based tradition. Run by a cooperative of dedicated families, it is - through and through - built with integrity and love. Learn more and check out their adorable video feature on Adobo Nation here.

4. Multinational Exchange for Sustainable Agriculture. MESA honors ancestral knowledge, sustainable tradition, and builds real connection between young and beginning farmers from across the globe, from the US to Peru to Mexico to Thailand and beyond.

5. CASFS Farm and Garden Apprenticeship. This apprenticeship builds practical tools in organic farming through an immersive apprenticeship, and has served as a catalyst point for farmers, advocates and educators around the globe. My time at CASFS in 2011 was made possible through the support of generous, anonymous scholarships, for which I hold deep gratitude. Here's to continued support of low income and apprentices of color to access this kind of quality training.

And while these aren't entirely food-culture-land organizations, they are doing deep healing and political work. Let it also be known that this work is done all while being volunteer-run organizations - they deserve even more love (on that note, I am a board member and editor in each, respectively, and deeply believe in their vision):Filipino/American Coalition for Environmental SolidarityHyphen Magazine

Wednesday, 11 November 2015

Nutrition in popular media is often framed in one of two ways: as a public health crisis, or as a dizzying array of new diet fads. Harder still, it seems, is hearing about successful ways to return health back to the people. Perhaps just as hard is seeing that work made into something celebratory and colorful as all the foodie-focused media out there.

This is why I believe cultural work is essential. We need public policy advocates, economic revitalization, caring health providers and work all levels working to renew healthy food. And we also need to be touched at the level of the heart, mind, and gut if we hope for any of this to survive.

Photo: Berkeley Food Institute. A dream team to share this day w/Bryant Terry, Saqib Keval and People's Kitchen, Gail Myers of Farms to Grow, Ron Reed of the Karuk tribe, and more!

There are many definitions to "decolonize" - let alone for decolonizing food. For me, broadly, it means unearthing the histories of assimilation, resistance, and adaptation that we hold. It means that even though we cannot "go back" to whatever ways we imagine things were before colonization, we can still restore a healthy relationship with food and place, wherever we are now. And perhaps, more than anything, it means moving beyond even individualized health (and individual ingredients) - although there is something powerful in that. It circles back always to something bigger and ultimately, collective. And did I mention, delicious?

This fall has witnessed a rise of many beautiful spaces in the Bay Area that weave together the act of sharing food together with history, labor, agriculture, culture, and celebration. And it felt right to have this happen during a time when so many cultures honor the harvest and ancestors. Below is a partial list - I encourage readers to add more! I am thankful to this big, vibrant circle of storytellers, cooks, farmers, teachers, parents, artists, activists and beyond for making this real and sharing its many manifestations.

Sunday, 09 August 2015

Do you have an old friend, a beloved friend, that you haven't seen for so long yet still feel utter closeness to? Unspoken conversations wind their way through your head for months. Memories resurface while doing laundry.

When the time comes and you finally see that face again, all you can do is hold back a yelp of joy mixed with anxiety, uncertain how to begin. You can attempt to stutter over months or years past, laughing all while swallowing a sense that too much time has passed. Talking through the "resume" of life events is surface level, unable to get to the heart of the matter. Asking how your day went feels like small talk, too mundane for the layers of time placed between your last meeting. It is an impossible task, done imperfectly.

This happens far more often than I would like, transient or far-flung as today's communities and relatives can be. And it's somewhat similar to the feeling I for this blog. Since there's no way to "catch up" - let's just start with bulletpoints, and then be exactly right now.

UC Berkeley - I finished a Masters in Public Health Nutrition - life goal, check, done! Despite my love for wielding knives and digging forks, I went to graduate school to grow the tools and language to link food and health issues faced by communities of color - specifically, Filipino Americans. It's all here.

What I took away was this: yes, gaps exist in the data. What we know is both disheartening (nutrition transition! chronic disease!) and hopeful, knowing the work ahead is real and we have the resources of ancestral knowledge and innovation to do this. I didn't realize how special graduation would feel, but it did. My parents, who live in the Philippines, were there. It felt truly "adult" - crossing the stage with peers dedicated to health along many pathways.

Summer has been dreamy - I joined the teaching team to further the vision of Sama Sama Cooperative and this summer's theme of Food and Land, "judged" (stuffed my face) dumplings for the annual KSW Dumpling Wars, and did a Filipino/American farm-to-table culinary demo at CUESA and Unearthing Roots: Real California Cuisine. I've also begun to experiment with the interest in Filipino-inspired foods in a place like North Berkeley, through the new platform Josephine.

More has happened, and more is to come. Through it all, I learned to embrace more strongly this purpose in life: to somehow move the needle and be part of changing this story of food.

Sunday, 19 April 2015

Even now, the scent of rice makes me feel at home. In our Filipino-American household, rice was the staple. While living in Hawai'i and California, we ate Calrose, a variety I later learned was developed in California at UC Davis (hence the "Cal"). Sometimes, we ate long grained jasmine rice, and in later years, as my parents grew more health conscious, they began to (begrudgingly) include brown rice.

I grew up taking rice for granted. We knew little of its source or its names beyond the branded package it came in. Yet rice is much more than white or brown, long or short grain. It is much older than the young, university-developed variety Calrose. Like corn is to Mesoamericans, rice is a profound cultural, economic and spiritual symbol, developed over generations by traditional farmers. Worldwide, over 40,000 varieties of rice exist - each with unique names, cultivation, colors, and flavors. Yet for many of us, the astounding diversity of these ancient crops has been whittled down to just a few in the market. Facing economic and environmental pressures, many of these heirloom seeds are on the verge of extinction.

This is why I was excited to connect with Justin Garrido and learn more about his project to support organic, traditional farmers in the Philippines. As the growing Filipino American food movement often shines a light on the "chef" aspect of Filipino food, it was refreshing to see an honest focus on food where it begins - with the livelihood of farmers, in seeds and soil. Read more about Social Products PH and rice here:

What are some of your fave Filipino foods (perhaps eaten or made w/ rice)?

JG: I enjoy Pinakbet with the bagoong, pork, mainly because of the mix of different gulay (vegetables). Chicken tinola is another favorite, a Filipino comfort food for the soul with malunggay leaves. I've especially enjoyed that dish and the different versions from the farming communities I've visited from the Batad rice terraces to Bukidnon. And both are great with a bowl of steaming white jasmine rice.

You shared the story that your lola was a rice trader. Did you grow up feeling connected to food, agriculture and rice through her?

JG: I actually never knew my Lola was a rice trader until just last year, when we shared with her what we are doing to partner with and empower Filipino rice farmers. As a son of a US Navy dad and as a Filipino American, I grew up in different suburbs in the US without much exposure to agriculture and where our food comes from. It really wasn't until just a few years ago, when I moved to the Philippines to pursue social entrepreneurship when I fell in love with the rural countryside and saw the potential with sustainable agriculture to protect the land and change farmer's lives for the better. I consider sustainable agriculture as farming that protects the environment, allows farmers to prosper and support their communities, as well as protects the welfare of animals.

Biodynamic is still unfamiliar among some US consumers and growers. How did you decide on sourcing from biodynamic growers?

JG: When I was looking to find the best of the Philippines to launch our market access initiative to empower marginalized Filipinos, I explored different natural foods such as coconut and coffee, as well as our indigenous weaving heritage. Based on insights gained from visiting organic grocers in the US, I found that organic colored rice might have good potential. Through mutual friends I came across our co-op partners in Cotabato, who happened to practice biodynamic farming. Our partners explained the farming method was a more spiritual way of farming that factored the farmer's transformation and the animal's well-being, as well as giving back to Mother Nature by feeding the soil and land.

Are the Filipino farmers you partner with also able to move their products into local/domestic markets, in addition to US markets?

JG: Our Filipino co-op partner sells their organic colored rice in the local communities as well as in major cities like Manila, Davao, and Cebu through the help of other social good partner distributors. But they are most hopeful for international markets where they can get higher income for their products.

What are some of the reactions from Fil/Am (and non Fil/Ams) to Social Products and of course, the rice?

JG: We've been blessed to have gotten a lot of love and support from our target market of 'conscious foodies,' that not only factor in the taste and health benefits of a food product, but also where a product comes from and how the farmers and environment are impacted. We've been focused on reaching out to natural specialty gourmet clients that have an aligned mission and values as us, and who's customers are 'conscious foodies.'

So we haven't bothered to reach out to traditional grocers and retailers, because we feel it would be an uphill battle to try to 'sell' to them. But in the Fil/Am community we've gotten a lot of positive feedback and support, as many Fil/Ams know of the vast social and environmental challenges of their country of heritage.

We exist to add value to farmers in the supply chain, by building a bridge to the US natural and specialty food industry and helping with branding, marketing, and connecting them to aligned clients. Rather than trying to do everything in the supply chain, we are collaborating with other like-minded social good entrepreneurs and organizations in the value chain.

This might be a sticky question - what do you think about superfoods and possible unintended impacts on local economies - eg, the "shadow" side of quinoa. Could that happen with heirloom rice?

JG: This is a great question. One of the things that I am sensitive to is sourcing from developing countries and feeding the appetite of first world countries for the next gourmet item and/or superfood. You see the exploitation of communities where farmers and the community can no longer afford to enjoy the food of their heritage, the best Philippine mangoes or tuna that are directly exported to wealthier Asian countries, or instant coffee consumed by the masses in Colombia while their Colombian coffee is exported across the globe.

With our organic colored rice, the farmers get to enjoy the rice and sell their surplus, that's built into the supply/value chain process. We would never export white rice, especially with challenges of rice sufficiency in the Philippines. The Philippines has started importing certain varieties such as the heirloom rice from the Rice Terraces, and colored rice which was partly grown to attract an international market. The black, red and brown rice had been developed for the export market, because locally Filipinos like most Asians prefer white rice. This is a way for Filipino farmers to capture more profit in an global marketplace. We educate our clients on limitations of supply and issues that may arise, so that expectations are managed as we grow, and the local community is always factored in our decisions. Aside from buying at an above fair trade price, we give back 5% of our profits towards a technical training program to convert more farmers to organic farming and methods, thereby sustainable practices like non-GMO, multi-cropping, etc.

What do you see as key "good food movement" issues and opportunities for Filipino/Americans and AAPIs?

JG: I guess the same thing that all Americans would and should value, supporting local when possible, respecting where food comes from, and advocating for a more just world with respect to People and the Planet.

Tuesday, 31 March 2015

I remember it vividly - I was at an urban farm work party and a young white woman had gathered the group into a closing circle. She explained: "We are going to do the unity clap, a tradition from the United Farmworkers. It's called "isang bagsak."

The phase translates into Tagalog as "one down." Essentially, "If one falls, we all fall." I had done this in Filipino cultural spaces before, yet it was a first to share with a group of white folks and a smattering of people of color. Together, we did the resounding clap, closing off with the woman's call of "isang bagsak!" Speaking with her after, however, I was dismayed that she was unaware of "isang bagsak's" origins. While she associated the practice with the UFW, she didn't associate the UFW with Filipinos. It was a quiet erasure.

Today is March 31, Cesar Chavez Day. Today is needed. It's not often enough that people of color - or labor unions or farmworkers - get a commemorative holiday, a biopic, a stamp. These stories need to be honored in ways big and small. It is right to celebrate and re-center farmworkers' struggles in the public eye.

Yet there is a missing piece in the popular narratives of Cesar Chavez. Although portrayed as a Chicano-only organization, the UFW was cofounded by Chicanos and Filipinos who chose to join forces despite the divisive tactics imposed by growers. This was a powerful choice. It gave rise to a multiethnic, intergenerational movement.

In "Not Just Sour Grapes," brilliant friend and writer Jen Soriano broke down just how the promising 'Cesar Chavez' biopic failed to represent historic alliances between Filipino and Mexican farmworkers. Her article (read it!) included a simplified timeline. Among the key points:

Since the 1920's Filipino farmworkers or manongs had organized in California's fields.

in 1965, over 1500 Filipino farmworkers with the Agricultural Farm Workers Organizing Committee struck for 8 days before reaching out to Chavez and the National Farm Workers Association. Today, this strike is remembered as the Delano Grape Strike.

In 1966, the AFWOC and the NFWA merged to form the United Farm Workers Organizing Committee.

I grew up not knowing any of these three points, and only learned about Philip Vera Cruz, Larry Itliong, and more as an adult. We have a stake in the way these stories are told. We need more stories that break stereotypes of "apolitical Asians" and remind us that our elders were organizers, allies, and conspirators. Filipino farmworkers - along with other disenfranchised groups - put their bodies on the line for what they believed in. They were not bystanders to history.

To widen the spotlight is not to detract from Chavez's legacy. Instead, it reminds us that movements are made of people, and that when communities unite, they can build change.

Thursday, 12 February 2015

I believe life can give second chances. I'll take mine in the form of two New Years.

The first day of 2015 really did feel likean initiation: back on the Big Island, I stood with my feet in the Pacific beside to two wildly wonderful women friends. That elusive feeling of "home" washed right through me, familiar as the salty current. With my feet now back on land, I'm preparing to welcome in New Year's #2, the year of the goat (or, as that four-legged caprine is called in the Philippines and Malaysia and Indonesia, the kambing).

Where the waters meet - Big Island.

Still, there is a past year to recap, much like years in review for 2013 and 2012. Life has channeled my energy away from posting this past year. Both this blog and my backyard garden are quiet and somewhat overgrown. But it feels good knowing there is this a place to return to once the season shifts.

2014 was a different kind of year. It was hotter, drier, and more turbulent than before. It peeled back the connections of food, climate, and the survival of our communities, and especially in vulnerable places like the Philippines. I was proud to step forward with the Filipino/American Coalition for Environmental Solidarity (FACES) as they joined with the growing and global climate justice movement.

"Sariwa" popup, La Pena Cultural Center.

2014 also was full of a rediscovery of Filipino foods, arts, and culture. I worked with an amazing team to put "public health" and "popup" in the same sentence, using a themed popup dining series called Sariwa! (Fresh) to connect Filipino foods and health (see: coverage in UC Berkeley's Eat.Think.Design and KPFA's APEX Express special).

2014 showed me just how our community is vibrantly exploring who and what we love, from Kommunity Kulintang's Manilatown series to the Filipino Food Movement's Filipino Foods festival in San Francisco. We are also building for the next generation, as I learned while cooking binatog with the amazing youth and families of the rising family cooperative Sama Sama.

It's impossible to encounter a field of chilies without picking some.

2014 was also full of colorful, vivid moments that will linger. Those moments of gleaning chili peppers with friends and harvesting olives brought a kind of elusive, focused peace that can be hard to come by in the city.

When harvesting olives, be sure to carry a big stick and bring lots of friends.

And so what's ahead for 2015? I'm happy to share some new projects- I'm stepping in as the new Food+Agriculture co-editor for Hyphen Magazine. Perhaps the biggest personal milestone to come is finishing up the final stretch of a Master's in Public Health Nutrition at UC Berkeley, where I've been intent on learning how to better link traditional foodways and food knowledge to the field of public health.

I hope I can channel lots of kambing energy to tackle the year ahead. I remember from my one season living with dairy goats, just how they are born ready to run, even on that first day. They are intelligent and stubborn and hardheaded. Their voices are impossible to ignore. They can and will eat almost anything, whether poison oak, or the finest fall apples.

2015 promises to a big, bright year. I'll take all the sassy, stubborn, and steadfast kambing energy I can get.

Sunday, 26 October 2014

Last week marked National Food Day, an event to "bring Americans together to celebrate and enjoy real food and to push for improved food policies." This is a good day, but it is also a stark reminder that I live in a nation that spawned industrial agriculture, hundreds of food magazines, celebrity chefs, cronuts, series like Cupcake Wars, yet where we rarely lift the curtain to the realities of food.

Today has me reflecting on how language is a funny thing. Not so long ago phrases like "farm-to-table" didn't exist. The ubiquitous "foodie" wasn't a thing, and neither was the somewhat smug "clean eating." Before the rise of conventional agriculture and processed foods, foods were simply all those things, and more.

Food that is based on the seasons, land and place is traditional as can be. Yet using these new-yet-old labels often don't feel like the right fit when I want to talk about Filipino American foods. And why is that? Is it because what many now think is a "traditional" Filipino diet doesn't fit the profile - heavy on the meats, or with processed goods introduced by the American colonial period? Is it because vegetable-based dishes shouldn't sound like "alternatives" instead of, well, their own thing? What is a "foodie" about? In a time when hunger and inequity exist side-by-side with excess, is there a way to still celebrate pleasure?

I'm reminded of a conversation earlier this fall. In preparation for a culinary demo at Savor Filipino, I went out hunting for bittermelon and chilies at the Old Oakland farmer's market. That market feels like home. There you can find late peaches, grapes, and onions alongside produce that often cannot enter mainstream groceries but are staples in their own right: bulbous bittermelons, sweetish jujubes, dusky kabocha, and winged beans. Farm-to-table is the obvious destination for these foods. Of course these came from a farm somewhere. Of course this would make its way to a table, right?

On the way, I told my friend about the Filipino food demo I was planning for the event. Although I had some mixed feelings about the "farm-to-table" label, my chef co-presenter Dominic Ainza and I decided to use it anyway. We wanted to use it as an opportunity - not to bandwagon onto a trend but to reframe ancestral ways of eating as already in line with "new" food concepts.

She was thoughtful. "When I think of farm to table," my friend said, "Right away I think expensive. I think of trendy and costly, going out. I wouldn't think of home cooks and or of gardeners, but yeah, that's what it's about."

Dominic Ainza and I at "The Cook and Gardener" food demo

Living in the Bay Area, I've found that many people's first association with sustainable foods is tagged to high profile names like Michael Pollan or Alice Waters, and celebrated and costly restaurants. We rarely hear or see the workers of color whose intimate work make this a reality - in the fields, casting fishing line, and behind the kitchen door. Farm-to-table isn't much used to describe "ethnic" cuisine - unless, perhaps, it is turned into "upscale fusion" or taken out of context (see: $18 foie grass sunchoke tacos at __fill in blank__ new downtown joint).

Within the growing Filipino foods scene, I've sometimes heard our foods described as "fusion" when they include a locally grown or organic ingredient. I was struck that "antibiotic-free chicken adobo" was described as "innovated" for being antibiotic-free. Organic soy sauce was the "twist." I get it - sometimes we may need to point out intentional purchasing choices in order to lift them up. Sometimes, many times, it does cost more. There is also a pressure to use the buzzwords of the moment. Yet how is it that processed or chemically laden foods are now the invisible default, when they are the things our ancestors would recognize?

Before, we didn't need words like foodie, farm-to-table, fair food, clean or organic. If we could create our own language for how Filipino Americans relate to food today, I wonder what words we would use instead.

Malunggay or moringa - nutrient-rich "peasant" food, now dubbed a superfood in the West

Even with my rudimentary grasp of Filipino languages, I've found that they mirror deep relationships to food. A rainbow of words are linked to shades of ripeness, sourness, softness, or tastiness. Linamnam. Masarap. Mapait. Maalat. Matamis. There are names for the distinct stages at which to use a coconut, beginning from translucent baby flesh and ending with dried husk. Rice cultivars were grown from darkest purple to shell white, their biodiversity rivaling corn in the Americas and potatoes in Peru. Our place names mirror seasons and the harvest. I always circle back to this memory, that my mother is from Pangasinan - literally, "the land of salt."

These edible words are reminders that food is at the soul of Filipino culture, and that within this original knowledge, land and tradition meet. They may not be new or trendy, but they are reminders of what once was and what can be.

Friday, 27 June 2014

I've been away for awhile. Even my mom noticed. She asked me to post an article so she can read something new. The last time I wrote was in the aftermath of Typhoon Haiyan. It was back when this goldenrod squash plant was just a seed, dry and still in its paper packet. By now the aftermath has turned into recovery efforts and bracing for the future storms. The seeds are turned to golden squash, ripening towards a future harvest. Life continues. Yet where, exactly, did the time go?

The best kick in the pants came in the form of a call from an Al-Jazeera America reporter just after my birthday. She somehow found this blog and requested an interview to talk about the rise of minorities and women in farming. I had plenty to say...but felt, somehow, embarrassed and inappropriate, even. What could I say? Thanks for finding my blog...which has lain fallow for 6 months? Thanks for asking, but I'm the wrong person? I don't have a lease to show, my soul thirsts in the city, and yes, I need a better game plan because my nails are now (disturbingly) dirt-free? How do you explain what it means to not fall asleep in that same wonderful tired way at night?

So I talked about the drought, of folks' of color and complex ancestral ties to agriculture, and the stark financial reality of business. Those are all real, formidable, even respectable barriers. The media may have us fall in love with alluring stories of the next generation of farmers. Yet old and young alike also struggle to stay afloat while facing big, deep problems that are changing the world for all of us (climate change! drought!). We see a rennaissance in food education, yet long-standing garden programs are also chopped by school districts.

Some bright young things go off to Silicon Valley to build (often useless) apps and make 6-figure salaries, while other bright young things go off to other valleys to build soil yet in the end, may be unable to sustain themselves or the labor of love they poured sweat into. Life, it turns out, is beautiful. It also isn't fair.

There are real barriers to a life of the soil. Yet...the traces of cynicism in my voice scared me. It sounded like a cover to not fully try and perhaps fail gloriously. Age has tempered idealism. At 30, I am not who I was at 23 or 27. I am more in the material and pragmatic realm. This past year I've been amazed at the imperfect blessing of health and dental coverage. I don't wash my laundry in a bucket and hang it to dry on trees anymore. I floss regularly. I have a closet that holds several pieces of "work clothes" that you can't do real work in. I am lucky. And now I am doing a truly detestable MIllenial thing, humble-bragging or whatever on social media.

The reporter was kind yet relentless. She asked what the dream would look like, and how much it would really cost to get there. She told me that the 30's are the best yet (I said "thank you"). And she asked what was keeping me from a life that included farming. By this point I decided she was not a real reporter at all, and instead must be some ordained voice from the Universe, asking the unsightly but real questions we hide from ourselves like dirty socks under the bed.

So what's a 30-year-old to do? Hopefully, something like the picture above. It was taken in 2011 while I was in training as an apprentice at the Santa Cruz CASFS Farm and Garden program. Nearly every morning, before breakfast, I would awaken early, journal, and stalk beautiful things in the garden.

I still remember this little bee. Heavy, wings and fuzzy body covered with liquid, it clambered slowly over a leafy landscape. Although temporarily unable to fly, it was still intent on getting wherever it was that it needed to go, albeit at a slower pace.

Monday, 11 November 2013

There are no words to comprehend the scale of devastation. Feeling helpless, my housemate and I scanned through the BBC, CNN and Philippines news stations, watching concrete and steel buildings flattened by wind, waters engulfing farmland and roads. We watched the rising toll of the missing and the dead. Everyone we knew with loved ones in the islands waited with a lump in their throats, reaching out through Skype, email, Facebook, text and even Twitter for status updates.

Haiyan, known in the Philippines as Yolanda, is the worst typhoon in recorded history. Our generation is witness. Although storms happen every year in places like the Philippines, they are getting worse, signaling our new climate reality. Perhaps it's sadly fitting that the typhoon ends at the start of U.N. climate talks. Philippine delegates are bringing their heartfelt urgency to one of the most promising - and failed - international processes to curb global greenhouse levels.

"What my country is going through as a result of this extreme climate event is madness,” said Naderev “Yeb” Saño, lead negotiator for the Philippines at the climate talks. “The climate crisis is madness. We can stop this madness. Right here in Warsaw. Typhoons such as Haiyan and its impacts represent a sobering reminder to the international community that we cannot afford to procrastinate on climate action.”

Through all the madness I have taken slivers of hope at how people are expressing care, concern, and prayers. In times of crisis, we recognize that deep sense of responsibility to one another.

As groups organize ways to address the deeper issues resulting in tragedies like Typhoon Haiyan, this is a time to make our dollars count for immediate support. Below is a (non-comprehensive) list compiled through various community members in the SF Bay Area. I personally prefer to send support through grassroots organizations and I urge you to do your own research. I've also summarized a message from a friend and colleague, Lloyd Nadal, that was on point:

Wednesday, 02 October 2013

Salt happens. It pervades our waters and diet and bodies. It flavors our language: Taken with a grain of salt. Salt of the earth. Worth your salt. Don't spill the salt. Salt brings life to food, heals wounds and relieves sore throats. It transforms the harvest into pickles and salmon into sweet jerky. It even sees us to the end of life - salt embalms the dead. What is it about salt that is both poetic and common?

There's an easy-to-miss turnoff on the Hwy 1 that blurs into forest and becomes a trail beside the sea. This place possesses a vast and lonely beauty. Nothing about it soothes the senses or offers comfort or softness, yet somehow that coast and its nameless waves restore the spirit. Hope glimmers there like salt caught in the rocks.

The first pilgrimage - each time is a pilgrimage, never just a trip - was on a chicken-skin-raising, windy winter afternoon. I went with a dear friend who knew that place and also knew, intuitively, that harvesting salt and seaweed could help to heal and gather the spirit. We drove seven hours that day to share just four hours on the rocks, but it was enough. The second was in June, when I brought my parents visiting from the Philippines. Their hair tossed by the wind, they bravely and half-reluctantly followed the winding trail as I insisted we keep going, to find one bright seam of salt we could symbolically gather from together. My mother's province is Pangasinan, which literally translates to "The Land of Salt" (asin means salt). We were cold and tired, yet I felt half-superstitious this trip could strengthen the wavering bridge linking our two worlds.

The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears, or the sea. - Isak Dinesen

Just before the fall solstice, I returned to the point once more in search of the small pools we had spotted in the spring. After a long sunny summer, the pools were now thickened and crystallized, the surface cloudy and still. We fell into a quiet meditation, wielding dinner spoons to separate flakes from water and scrape crystals from sandstone. Curious, I dipped a finger into the water and tasted it. It was nearly unbearable, an entire ocean concentrated into a brine that brought tears to my eyes.

The bag of salt from that day still sits in my kitchen, untouched. Next to it rests a pouch of red clay sea salt I've carried for years from the Big Island, and a large-grained salt from Pangasinan. I tell myself these are to be used for guests, for celebration or for gifts. While our household liberally uses boxes of store bought Kosher or sea salt, I hoard these talismans, these traces of another place and shared moments under the sun.

Let there be work, bread, water and salt for all. - Nelson Mandela

My promised land is not one of milk and honey, but of salt. It is the substance of my mother's home province, and a point off the map on Hwy 1 where I remembered how to come alive. In some inexplicable way, this last pilgrimage also helped to recover my creative salt. It reminded me I am worth my salt only when I return to things that refuse to be abandoned, to heed an inevitable pull to the kitchen and the blank pages of my journal.

We write, cook and salt to affirm a place in the universe. Our lives can be scrawled or simmered, set in loaves or stanzas, recipe or verse. They sing the same words in different languages: I am here, I am here.

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